


Effectively High

by mapleandmahogany



Series: Effective Immediately [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, SHIELD Husbands, grumpy barton, medicated phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil always meant to tell his new team that he was married - <i>to an Avenger</i> - but it just never came up. And then he was briefly taken hostage, because that just happens sometimes. </p><p>Later, in medical…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effectively High

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Quizzical](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quizzical/pseuds/Quizzical) for the cheers and [CityofPaperBuildings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CityOfPaperBuildings/pseuds/CityOfPaperBuildings) for the beta help.
> 
> Set vaguely in the middle of Season One - Agents of SHIELD.

~

Clint sees them, the puppies, the ducklings – Phil’s new motley crew of misfit baby agents – standing silent vigil outside of Phil’s hospital room. He’s feeling old enough these days (and incredibly bitter at the moment) that he feels perfectly justified calling them babies.

He looks into the retinal security scan and the double hospital doors automatically open ahead of him.

The team seems to collectively inhale when they become aware of Clint walking toward them, casting sideways glances in his direction, looking-but-not-looking, while trying to maintain the professional indifference expected of SHIELD agents. May succeeds. The new girl, Skye, utterly fails.

They all look haggard and concerned. Ward and May are particularly rough, matted hair, bruised cheeks and knuckles.

Skye though, gawks at Clint, wide-eyed and not the least bit subtle, but she’s not the one who breaks first.

“Is that? That’s Hawkeye, yeah?” Fitz says, not even whispering. Clint knows him from Phil’s description.

“I thought he’d be taller,” Simmons says.

“That is _totally_ Hawkeye,” Skye confirms in an excited mutter before squeaking out an even quieter, “ _oh my god_!” 

Clint’s experienced a few reactions like that on the street since New York, but it feels out of place inside a secure SHIELD facility.

He continues walking toward them but doesn’t acknowledge that he can hear them. He’s read all their files, did so as Phil selected them, but Clint really knows them best from Phil’s stories. Emails, and late night phone calls and official mission reports. He wants to like them, to see in them what Phil does, but Phil always sees the best in people and right now Clint is scared. It’s the kind of scared that makes him pissed off and unpleasant to be around.

Agent Ward leans low to Melinda. “Were the Avengers assembled because of us?” he asks.

“Agent Barton isn’t here as an Avenger,” she says, not even trying to keep her voice low as Clint takes up a position next to her, facing the closed door of Phil’s treatment room.

“Barton,” she says.

“May.”

The only reason he’s not barging right into Phil’s room is because he’s required to keep his distance and not ask too many details about Phil’s health and medical situation. He’d been willing to accept any and every condition that allowed him access to Phil after the Battle of New York, even his spousal right to ask questions.

There’s a quiet beat of building tension among Phil’s little team, Clint can feel the curiosity and guilt coming off them in waves, so he turns towards them, looking them each in the eye.

“We got him back,” May says. “And he’s not hurt. Much.” While her face gives nothing away, her voice is defensive. 

Clint is too grumpy to alleviate that for her just now.

“That’s just great,” he replies, addressing the whole group. “What’s even better is not letting your team leader get taken hostage _in the first place_.” He was aiming for cool but his voice rose at the end against his will.

May purses her lips but her expression holds.

Ward shifts, he’s tall and broad and is surely used to using his physicality to its every advantage.

“Look, uh, sir? You don’t know what--” he starts, but Clint faces him directly, takes a small step forward and Ward goes silent. Clint’s not a tall guy but as he runs with Thor, Cap and occasionally The Hulk; he’s really not much influenced by the size of a person.

“Agent _Grant Ward_ ,” Clint says slowly, pinning him with the statement of his name, looking him hard in the eye. Ward caves in the chest just a little, his mouth twitches with a startled smile, which he represses with effort, and his hand flaps a little as he stutters “Y-you know who I am?”

Clint remembers again that he’s a pseudo-celebrity as an Avenger now, even among SHIELD agents. He’d expected an agent of Ward’s clearance to be made of sterner stuff but then with his specialty he’d be aware of the sharpshooting legacy Clint has left in SHIELD’s record books. In any other situation, seeing Ward get all overcome might be kind of flattering, almost adorable like Phil’s breathless fluster over Steve, but this isn’t that kind of situation. Clint’s toting a furious rage at the moment and mainly feels like burning everything to the ground.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Clint says. “And don’t ever imply that I don’t know how important it is to not be taken in the first place.”

His eyes go big. “I – no, sir, I only mean…” Ward’s Level 7 and knows exactly what happened to Clint at the hands of Loki. “It’s just that, we _did_ get him back.” He pauses his mouth open for a moment and, apparently finding nothing else to say, closes it.

Skye looks startled at seeing Ward go speechless and when Clint looks at the garment bag she’s holding, she takes a step backwards, clutching the bag close to her chest.

“It’s Coulson’s,” she says. “I thought he might need a change of clothes so I...” She honestly looks like she’s going to keel over from the stress of it all but the way she’s willing to protect Phil’s suit against an unknown Avenger is pretty commendable. 

“Yeah. That was good thinking,” he says, gentler now, feeling a twinge of guilt, and reaches for the bag. “He’ll appreciate that. I’ll take it to him.”

She doesn’t quite let go of it. She glances at May, who nods, so she hands it over with a little huff of protest. The initial fangirl impression giving way to suspicion.

Clint is starting to feel badly for coming off such an ass. At this point he’s pretty sure they don’t even know about his and Phil’s relationship.

“Listen, I realize that you don’t,” he begins, but then the door of Phil’s room opens and a tech exits carrying a tray of blood-filled phials lined up in a row and Dr. Streiten steps out.

“Oh, good, Agent Barton, you’re here. Please come in.”

Clint’s stomach knots up. As much as he’s always liked Dr. Streiten, he’s developed a negative association with the man where Phil is concerned. He can feel the weighty questioning looks from Phil’s team but Clint doesn’t look at them, he just squares his shoulders and enters the room.

“Hi,” Phil says immediately, smiling at him. He slumps a little, looking relieved. “You came.”

Phil’s sitting on an exam table, cloth medical gown draped over his shoulders. He’s still wearing his trousers and shoes, which Clint takes as a good sign.

“Hi, yourself. ‘Course, I came as soon as I could. Phil, you were _taken hostage_ , god damn it,” he scolds, unable to resist.

“Just for a little bit.” Phil shrugs in what is meant to be his carefree loosey-goosey way to express that it was no big deal, but then he freezes mid-way with the pain his movement caused.

“Hurts, huh?” Clint puts a hand on Phil’s elbow, it’s the first contact they’ve had in weeks.

“Not much?” Phil shakes his head and attempts a grin with pursed lips, but Clint can feel the slight trembling tension in his body, see the muscle in his jaw flex. The machine monitoring his heart beeps and leaves a visible peak in the laser trail tracking across the screen. Phil looks down at his lap, nodding when he realizes he’s caught out. "Hurts a bit.”

Phil being honest with Clint about when he’s hurting or afraid is still a new thing and it means a lot to Clint.

“Doc?” Clint is confident his expression demands explanation, but Dr. Streiten just chuckles low and deep.

“We can dispense with this, I think,” Dr. Streiten says, flipping off the machine and reaching under Phil’s gown to unstick the wireless monitoring devices from his chest and back. It’s difficult to see Phil’s personal space being invaded like that, even on medical grounds, it feels like such a violation, particularly for agent of Phil’s stature and reputation. 

“Your heart is fine” the doc says. “He’s _fine_ ,” he repeats again to Clint. “Agent Barton, you know there’s little I can tell you about Phil’s condition but I will say that he’s largely unaffected in any way regarding his… _previous_ injuries.” Dr. Streiten pauses, like he wants to be delicate about the issue but it’s already raw and real for the two of them. No need to bother with delicacy. “But he has suffered second degree tendon tearing in his rotator cuff.”

Clint and Phil practically roll their eyes at each other, almost smiling with relief. They’ve both had so many shoulder injuries over the years, this should be a cakewalk.

“I know it’s nothing that won’t heal quickly,” Dr. Streiten continues. “But pain and tension in the joint will inhibit the healing process, which in turn affects heart health, so I’m giving Phil a strong analgesic and muscle relaxant. Because you are Phil’s medical proxy and also _conveniently_ an agent with the appropriate clearance level, I am releasing him into your stewardship while he’s medically compromised.”

“I understand,” Clint says, his spirits rising. No heart issues, no apparent torture. It’s better than he’d hoped for. 

“I need to make sure that you do, Clint. I know we talked about all this before.”

“Yeah I already signed and swore, Doc. I can’t know anything about Phil’s recovery,” he said, letting his resentment of the Eyes-Only policy sink into his tone.

The big song and dance about stewardship isn’t about Clint looking after his shoulder injury. It's to take responsibility of anything Phil might say or do while on narcotics. Whatever their big secret is.

“No questions,” Clint said. “I get it. If Phil tells me anything that I don’t know, I have to report what it is that I don’t know and subsequently forget and deny that I ever knew anything that I never knew.”

Phil is still holding himself rigid like he’s in pain but his mouth twists with a smirk and even Dr. Streiten chuckles, low and easy.

“That’s about the sum of it.”

“I’ll follow the orders, Doc. Hear no evil, see no evil, say no ev--”

“There’s no _evil_ ,” Dr. Streiten says quickly, then goes on mumbling in irritation to himself _something “classified” something something “magical”_ and Clint thinks it’s all stupid and more than a little fishy but ‘stupid and fishy’ does tend to be the subtitle of his life. He can roll with whatever it takes to have Phil alive and well and to have access to him. 

Clint turns away from the doctor and takes both of Phil’s hands, looking him over, assessing. He’s got a bruise and mild abrasions on his cheek. Clint hovers his hand next to Phil’s face, wanting to soothe but afraid of hurting him. Phil gets that soft look in his eyes without actually smiling and turns his head just enough to press his face into Clint’s palm.

“It’s okay,” Phil whispers, barely audible. It’s quiet, a tiny moment just for the two of them.

“So, ah...” Clint pulls his hand away, scratches at his own neck and corrects his posture, a leftover longstanding habit of reporting to his S.O.. “Your crew is out there, all kinds of worried about you.”

Phil makes his proud Agent Coulson smile. Clint knows it well. “They did good today,” he says.

“Hm.” Clint makes a low grumble in his throat. “You mean aside from losing you, and you landing in here? Sure.”

“I put myself in harm’s way. They got me back. Everything worked.”

Clint can see the Agent Coulson defensiveness begin to mold around Phil. He’d worn it like an armor sticking up for Clint – all of Strike Team Delta, really – many times.

“No, c'mon look. Stand down, Phil, geez. I’m just saying, I didn’t so much make a very good first impression with your people.”

“Clint.” Phil glares.

“ _Well._ Sorry.”

Clint can’t help looking at his feet, another leftover habit, but then remembers that Phil always wants to see his eyes so he casts a look upward and sees Phil’s stern expression fade to fondness.

“I’d have liked to introduce you under better circumstances. But that’s not your fault.”

“Still haven’t technically been introduced. That’s if you were you even planning to tell them about us?”

“Yes,” Phil says, and then reaches for him. “Clint. _Yes_. I’ve always planned to tell them. Once the time was right. We’ve been kinda busy.”

“Hey, no. I wasn’t getting torqued out about you keeping us a secret. I just meant that the meds are gonna make you high as a kite. You know that right?”

Phil hesitates and shuts down another smirk before nodding. Pain meds and muscle relaxants make Phil affectionate and demonstrative. It would be difficult to remain indifferent and professional in front of the others.

“I trust them. I don’t mind if they know – I _want_ them to. If _you_ don’t mind?”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

Coming out had only got easier after looking Nick Fury in the eye and declaring his relationship status.

“Just, keep me from streaking through the Bus or singing karaoke, okay?” Phil says.

Clint chuckles. “You got it, boss. I’ll tie you down if I have to.”

Phil’s bland expression doesn’t change but he tilts his head and Clint honestly hadn’t meant for it to sound kinky. Dr. Streiten clears his throat behind them as they startle apart like a couple of busted teenagers, clamping down on any urge to blush.

“Right. Well I’ll just…” Dr. Streiten says, swiping Phil’s arm with antiseptic and administering the injection before giving Phil any time to consider it. Phil really dislikes being jabbed and it’s nothing at all to do with it hurting. Just gives him the creeps. Phil’s eyelid twitches, but he remains still and Clint loves him a tiny bit more for his resilience. 

“You’ll be feeling no pain real soon, Phil.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Doc. For real.” He really means it, too. All attitude aside.

“Keep your arm in the sling as much as possible,” Doctor Streiten says. “Even when it stops hurting.” There are further instructions with meds and ice and heat, and orders for follow up appointments but they’ve heard it all before, dozens of times. 

By the time the doc leaves, Clint has worked Phil’s shirtsleeve up onto the stationary arm without jostling his shoulder once. He may be a clod when it comes to dealing with people in social situations but his hands are steady and sure when it comes to Phil’s body.

“Did you get pulled away from something important?” Phil asks.

“Well, that’s official Avengers business, sir. You’re not cleared for that,” Clint says, smirking when Phil gives him a sharp look. He holds the shirt up at the back for Phil to stick his good arm through the other sleeve.

“Meds must be taking effect already,” Phil says. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.” 

“Or not,” Clint says, and kisses him before beginning to button his shirt for him. Phil kicks his heel gently into the back of Clint’s knee and making his leg buckle a tiny bit and Phil leans in quickly to kiss him; a long, sweet get-to-know-you-again dry press of lips while Clint finishes buttoning his shirt for him. 

“Sling,” Clint says, knowing exactly how to adjust the straps. He fits it over Phil’s head and carefully holds his elbow as he secures the arm in place.

“Let me do it. Don’t help.” 

“I’m not.” 

“ _Phil._ ” 

“Okay!”

Lacking a better idea, Clint takes the fresh tie from the garment bag and drapes it over Phil’s neck, then he puts Phil’s good arm through the jacket sleeve and drapes it over the injured shoulder. 

“Alright, buddy. You’re about as put together as we can get you here.”

“Hm. Thanks,” Phil says, smiling, giving Clint an adoring, glossy gaze, not looking like he has any intention of going anywhere.

“You’re baked already.”

“Nah. I’m _good_.” Phil pronounces it ‘gooooood’ and Clint snorts.

“Right. ‘Kay, boss, let’s do this.”

He opens the door and lets Phil lead the way, his baby agents clustering close.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Phil reassures them. “Really. It’s just a shoulder thing.” 

Clint cautiously and conspicuously takes his place by Phil’s side. 

“Everyone, I apologize that I haven’t been able to do this sooner,” Phil says, smiling at Clint and then at his crew. “Or under better circumstances, but I’d like you to meet my husband, Clint.”

Four sets of eyes move collectively from Phil, to Clint, and back again, while May continues to look bored.

“Husband?”

“Blimey.”

“You’re married?”

“ _The_ Clint Barton?”

Clint clears his throat. “Ah. Hey? Yeah, look, sorry I wasn’t too cool there before.”

All but May share a collective jaw drop. Clint glances at Phil and sees apprehension tensing in his body language. They’re always having to come out to people and he and Phil usually wear their give-no-fucks personal armor, but he can see that Phil really cares about these people’s response. 

May shifts her weight impatiently and it’s Ward who collects himself first and extends his hand. “I’m an admirer of your work, Agent Barton. It’s a honor to finally meet you.”

There’s no aggressively masculine grip-test in his handshake and there’s also a look in his eyes that Clint recognizes in a brother, either of blood or bond.

“Agent Ward,” Clint acknowledges. “Likewise.”

“Sir,” Ward says, with a nod to Phil that is somehow congratulatory in natural and Phil breaks into a pleased smile. 

“Thank you, Grant,” Phil says.

Ward looks pleased at the use of his name and then glares at the rest of the team babies.

“Uh- it’s quite all right, Agent Barton,” Simmons says. “You were worried about your _husband_. Of _course_ you were concerned!” 

“Sir, you’re married to an Avenger,” Skye says.

“I know,” Phil agrees, smiling at Clint, his cheeks round, eye crinkles in full force.

“And he’s really _hot_ ,” Skye adds in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, intentionally catching Clint’s eye to include him in the teasing. 

“I know, _right_?”

Clint sees Skye realize that something isn’t quite right with Phil. However much Phil might agree with her on Clint’s hotness factor, and he might be less formal with this crew than he’s ever been with a team before, Phil’s never giddy. 

Clint clears his throat and puts a hand on Phil’s low back to keep him from listing to the side.

“Yeah, so here’s the deal,” Clint says abruptly, channeling Steve’s take-charge-of-this-clown-car authoritative voice. 

“It’s just a torn shoulder,” Phil interjects, in a gossipy toned whisper. “I’m _fine_ , don’t worry.”

“I’m on assignment as Coulson’s private detail while he’s medically compromised and until there are no clearance level concerns.”

“--Medication makes me chatty. It’s a thing--” 

The ducklings visibly try not to snicker. 

“So! I can take him with me for a couple days,” Clint says and Phil lets out a happy hum, gazing at him, making Clint clear his throat and double down on his effort to maintain agent-in-charge presence. “But I think he’ll be more comfortable on this plane of yours. Uh, in the air. Far away from prying eyes. And ears.” His eyes slant to their general surroundings and the crew perks into understanding at that. 

“We can be wheels up in fifteen minutes,” May says. “I’ll secure the Bus at an airfield within an hour and some of us can check into a hotel.”

“I back that plan,” Ward says quickly.

“Yes! And, of course we want Agent Coulson to be comfortable,” Simmons says. “And you. Well. Any husband of Agent Coulson’s is a husband of ...our S.O.’s. Heh.”

“Thank you, Jemma,” Phil says.

“Yeah, thanks,” Clint says. “I appreciate that.”

“This way then,” Ward says, and takes the lead to the hanger. 

Clint keeps Phil next to him, flanking his injured side while the others take up a semblance of formation around them, with May bringing up the rear. He can’t hear her behind them, which would bothersome if she were just about anyone else but she’s one of the few people in the world he trusts to have his (and Phil’s) back.

“So. Sir? You’ve been married all along and never said,” Simmons says.

“Very secret spy of you, Coulson,” Skye says.

“I think _secret_ is implied when you say _spy_ ,” Fitz says. “You’re just being redundant.”

“Whatever, you’re just missing the point here,” Skye continues. “Coulson has a _husband_. You gotta spill, sir, how long have you been married to Hawkeye? Oh my god, do you actually call him Hawkeye? Is that hot, or is it kinda weird? Who’s got the higher SHIELD clearance? That’s got to be hell on a marriage, huh?”

“ _Skye_ ,” Ward hisses over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Wow,” Clint says, overwhelmed.

“Right?” Phil says, though he seems amused, proud maybe, though Clint can’t tell if he’s proud about showing off Clint as his husband or of Skye’s interrogation skills. 

He decides to avoid the questioning with a few of his own.

“It’s Doctor Fitz, right?” he says.

Fitz’s face goes slack for a moment at being addressed directly. “Er, pardon?”

“You’re Doctor Leo Fitz? You developed the delivery system for my acid arrows.”

“That was. That is, I--” Fitz’s shoulder clips the edge of a corridor as they pass and he stumbles, stopping himself from a faceplant at the last second with the help Simmons’s quick assist.

“That was him, yes,” Simmons says. “ _Is_ , actually. Doctor Fitz. Yes.”

“Yeah. I am him. He is me. We’re both me. Just me, the one of us. Um...” 

Clint glances at Phil to make sure he’s not said something out of turn, but Phil has his jaw clenched in his not-quite-a-smile expression, like a drunk trying to behave sober. 

“Right,” Clint says. “I’ve had different mock-ups over the years but the batch that finally worked had your name on the case. Used ‘em against the Chitari, so. I appreciate your work.”

Clint sees the starstruck awe fade from Fitz’s eyes, the light instead replaced with professional fervor.

“It was the polymer lining combined with the demagnetized alloy compound breakdown conflicting with the ignition delivery system! Simple really.”

Clint blinks. “Yeah. Cool. Tony even said SHIELD got it right.”

“Tony?” Fitz says. “As in Stark?”

“Ah. Yeah,” Clint says, preparing for the usual Iron Man fanboying, particularly coming from another engineer.

“Ha!” Fitz says, the tone of triumph and smugness not at all what Clint expected. “Stark would have gone with desiccated ferrous alloy,” he says to Simmons. “You just wait for it! Next thing we know, S.I. tech is going to be using _my_ polymer lining.”

Simmons pats him, nodding, and Clint can’t tell if she’s humoring him or being sincere. Clint looks at Phil and he’s just as smug as Fitz, which is when Clint realizes exactly why Phil chose Fitz for his team. Aside from his genius, Fitz doesn’t idolize Tony Stark.

He raises his eyebrows at Phil.

“What?” Phil says, all bullshit innocence and swaggering step.

“You know exactly _what_.” Clint chuckles and can’t keep himself from reaching for Phil. It’s just a steadying touch to his lower back but Phil shifts slightly into it before Clint moves his hand away. 

Clint wants to avoid handling Phil too much in front of his team. Not just in effort to avoid PDA, which they tend to do anyway, but he doesn’t want to do anything that might diminish Phil’s reputation and authority. However much this team of Phil’s seems more casual than even Strike Team Delta ever was, Agent Coulson is a Level 8 that deserves respect.

They enter the hanger bay and SHIELD616 looms large and beautiful; ‘Bus’ is far too homely a name for such a craft. 

Clint lets out a low-and-sexy whistle. “Damn, May,” he says. 

Because, sure, Clint has an Avengers gig now, which he’s pretty proud of, but there’s not an aviator alive that wouldn’t be envious of this aircraft.

May snorts as she walks passed and up the loading ramp. “Keep your hands to yourself, Barton.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

Phil leans into his side. “Did I tell you or did I tell you?”

“You totally did, sir.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, smiling up at his plane. 

“Did you seriously call him ‘sir’?” Skye asks. 

“He did,” Phil says, pleased.

“Kinky.”

“It’s a term of endearment and esteem, okay?” Clint says.

“ _Kin_ -ky,” Skye sing-songs.

Phil takes a breath to reply and he’s got a light in his eyes, god only knows what he’s about to fess up to, but Clint jerks his head quickly, and Phil closes his mouth again, blushing. 

“Four minutes!” May calls, disappearing ahead of them as she heads to the cockpit.

“S.O.P., sir?” Ward asks Phil, and there’s something cautious in the question, almost leading him carefully.

“Yes! Thank you,” Phil says. “S.O.P. …”

A twitch of his nostrils is the only flicker of amusement Ward displays. “Alright everybody, secure your gear! Places for wheels up and then fall in for debrief and sitrep.”

The team falls into bustle and out of sight and as the engines roar into life Clint feels some relief at getting Phil away from SHIELD medical. He still has this fear that Phil is gonna get snatched up and hidden away from him. 

The loading ramp closes as he walks Phil aboard and with no else around he puts his hands around Phil’s waist, carefully avoiding his immobilized arm, and nudges them sideways to lean against Lola’s door.

“Nice to see her again,” Clint says. 

Phil closes his eyes and lets himself lean equally into Clint and the coupé. 

“I think of you, of _us_ , every time I look at her,” Phil says. 

Clint kisses his cheek near his ear and keeps his face pressed close. 

“Mm, remember that drive to Boston?” Clint kisses him again, behind his ear this time.

“Sitwell wanted to know why it took us ten hours to get there from New York.” 

The anxiety of meeting new people and worrying about Phil was fading fast.

“Feeling okay?” Clint asks, keeping his hands on Phil as the Bus began to taxi. 

“Yes. God. I apologize if I’ve already done something I shouldn’t have. So strange feeling this… loose.”

Clint chuckles. “You’re good. That’s what I’m here for. We can hide out in your office if you want?”

“Nah. Want to be there for post-brief. We… well, you know how it is.”

He does. After you go through an experience with people, a shit-storm kind of an experience with your team, you want to stick together for a little while, comfort the primal beast that wants to ensure the pack is intact. Even as solitary as Clint is, he understands the instinct.

“-Seatbelts!” May’s voice echoes over the intercom.

“May is chief safety officer on board. She takes seatbelts very seriously.”

“Well we wouldn’t want to get a safety violation,” Clint says and nudges Phil ahead of him with a pat on the ass that makes him laugh.

Clint gets them settled in the squashy white sofas in the lounge. Phil finds the fastening of one latch with his good hand and looks genuinely perplexed for a moment. Clint tries not to snicker too much as he reaches for the other side of the seatbelt and fastens it for him. 

“I’m so glad you’re...” Phil says.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “Seatbelts are hard.” Phil nods, agreeing sincerely, and Clint pats his knee.

Once they’ve reached altitude, the team begins to filter in. They’ve got the coordinated rhythm of a crew that reads each other well. Clint knows Phil is a top notch boss, but that’s reinforced when he watches them, some completely green and inexperienced in the field, already operating as a unit. 

They move like most SHIELD teams do post-op, logging into the mainframe, synchronizing tech, cataloging injuries and equipment damage, but as the Bus doubles as their personal living space they sprawl comfortably on the floor and over the arms of the chairs, wearing casual clothes, passing out bottles of beer and a line of frozen pizzas stream from galley’s convection oven.

Apparently the next gen sit-reps and debriefs look like a college study session.

Clint raises an eyebrow at May and she shrugs. She remembers the old days, too, when pizza and beer came _after_ paperwork.

Fitz extends a bottle in their direction and Phil brightens, reaching for it. 

“Really, sir? You never drink with us.”

“Yeah, he won’t be starting tonight, either,” Clint says, taking the bottle instead. “Sorry,” he adds, taking a sip. “Hell yeah.”

“Mean,” Phil says.

“Yup,” Clint says and takes another drink. “Not while you’re already high and medicated.” 

“You’re technically on my duty right now,” Phil says and then frowns. “On duty on me. On my, you’re my…” He sighs. “Words are hard, too.”

Clint bites the inside of his cheek. He can sense the others hiding their giggles, too. “Don’t worry about it. I always think words are hard.”

He figures the best way to go unnoticed is to fit in with your surroundings and since the mood casual is he puts the beer in his other hands so he can stretch his arm up on the couch behind Phil. Still, the move is remarkably close to a cheesy ‘yawn and stretch’ pick-up maneuver and it makes Phil grin and settle close. 

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Phil says with deep sincerity.

Clint almost snorts his beer and has to wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

“Now, darlin’, let’s not embarrass the kids, huh?”

“Sorry,” Phil whispers.

Clint smiles and scratches the back of Phil’s head and he closes his eyes, leaning into it like a satisfied cat. He begins nodding off before long, his head drooping. Clint slides closer so that Phil can list against his chest, head reclining onto his bicep.

“Aw, my granddad does the same thing,” Simmons says in a sentimental voice.

“Grand dad?” Clint says defensively.

Since Phil isn’t completely asleep, just resting, he snorts when he hears her.

“She always says things like that,” he says with his eyes shut. “I might as well be Father Time.”

“Sorry,” Simmons scrunches her nose. “I only mean, it’s cute. No disrespect, sir.”

“I’m very intimidating, Jemma,” Phil says softly. “Not cute.”

“Yes, sir,” she agrees, solemnly. 

Clint wants to say more but feels it might come dangerously close to undermining Phil. Instead he flexes his bicep, making Phil’s head wobble and Phil smirks.

“Landing in twenty,” May says. “Who’s getting a room?”

“Me,” Ward says quickly, and Clint wonders if he’s that desperate to get away from the Bus or if he’s got civilian plans.

“I’ll stay,” Skye says. “Seriously can’t be bothered to pack a bag right now.” 

“I’ve almost got the depolarizability worked out. Working in the lab,” Fitz adds, stuffing a pizza crust into his mouth.

“Count me in for the hotel,” Simmons says, stretching and curling her toes. “I’m going to have a proper bath.”

“Going to ring him,” Fitz mutters, without looking at Simmons, and there’s something accusatory in the fake casual manner he’s pulling.

“And so what if I did?”

“Nothing at all. You don’t have to make some girly excuse like taking a bath, that’s all.”

“I can be girly, Fitz, on account I am actually a girl. For all you notice. And a bath is just a bath.”

“Of course. Unless a bath is actually a phone call, which is all I’m saying.”

The back and forth continues and Clint watches the volley. It’s like watching kittens fight; fierce but completely harmless.

“Sitwell.” Phil explains in a hushed voice. “Fitz doesn’t approve.”

“No way,” Clint says to Phil, then, because words frequently fly out of Clint’s mouth without forethought, says, “You and Jasper?”

“What?” Simmons says, going for casual. “He’s sweet.”

“He is _not_!” Clint snorts, and Fitz looks delightedly vindicated. “He’s a fucking j--” Clint starts, but then stops when he sees the expressions around him. His gut instinct is to razz Sitwell like he would any fellow agent he’s spent time in literal trenches with. 

Clint coughs and scratches the back of his head. “Nothing. I just mean. We’ve known Jasper since he was a trainee. He’s a solid dude, though. Seriously. Was on Strike Team Delta with us near the end. Been through a lot with him. Uh, tell him I said hey?” 

“Well. If I happen to speak with him. I’ll be in the _bath_.” She glares at Fitz.

Clint settles into observation mode, letting Phil rest while the others finish their work and clear the mess.

He finds himself drifting to sleep as the plane lands, May is a damn smooth pilot. The others debark quietly; Simmons waves and makes a squeaky little “you’re so cute together!” sounds as she goes, Ward nods and Clint gives him a casual two-finger salute, and May follows indicating with her mobile device in hand that she’ll be on-call. 

He doesn’t want to disturb Phil’s nap so he closes his eyes and hopes his arm doesn’t fall asleep. He’s is distantly aware of Skye clicking away on her laptop when he realizes the sound has stopped and senses that he and Phil are being watched. 

“What?” he says, a second before opening his eyes.

Skye startles at being caught but doesn’t look particularly embarrassed about it.

“Nothing. Just…”

Clint lifts his head and awaits explanation.

“I guess, just, seeing you two together.” She waves a hand at them. “Seeing Coulson be all _married_. It’s kind of weird. But it’s kind of cool, too! Like, maybe this is what it’s like catching your parents making out.”

“We aren’t making out,” Phil says, still with his eyes shut, head nestled in Clint’s shoulder.

“And we’re not old enough to be your parents,” Clint protests.

“Actually,” Phil opens his eyes and sits up, yawning. “We _are_ old enough to be her parents. Sorry.”

Skye laughs at Clint. “Don’t trip, dude. You’re totally _hot dads_ , anyway. It’s cool.”

“Okay, can you never say those words again?”

Phil looks relaxed but not quite as blitzed as he was earlier. 

“The arm okay?” Clint asks.

“The arm is just fine.”

“Glad you’re okay, sir,” Skye says. “And, I’m happy for you. I mean, glad you have your own Avenger and all.”

“We were together before he was an Avenger,” Phil says and Clint is amused to hear that that seems important to Phil for people to know. It’s true, they were colleagues and friends for a long time before they were married.

“Alright. I’m out,” Skye says, closing her laptop and tapping the lid. “I have a date with Netflix. Keep it down now, kids. No rockin’ the Bus.”

Phil sighs, flushing as she goes. “Have I been awful?”

“You’ve been fine. They respect you,” Clint says, standing and pulling Phil up to stand, and kisses him. “But they also like you a lot. Even Ward.”

“That’s saying something.”

Clint follows Phil up to his office, keeping a hovering hand at his back in case he wobbles, but he stays steady on his feet.

“Wall bed, right?” Clint asks, once they lock the door behind them.

“I call it a hide-a-bed, but yes,” Phil says, sitting behind his desk.

“Either way.” Clint depresses the lock mechanism and supports it as it unfolds. “It’s a bed that may or may not eat us while we sleep.”

“It hasn’t eaten me yet.”

“Yeah, well things respond better to you.” Clint tosses the pillows into some semblance of order and then faces Phil. “I’m just saying. I don’t trust it.”

“Your objection is noted, agent,” Phil says, and he’s teasing, but he uses the voice he’s always used with Clint, fond and patient and accepting.

Clint pauses, hands on his hips, looking at Phil, who’s looking back at him and Clint realizes just how alone they are now.

“ _Hey_ ,” Clint says. Pick up lines are maybe not his strong suit, but he knows just the right tone to make Phil smirk at the floor and flex that muscle in his jaw. Phil thinks he’s too old and salty to blush from Clint’s attention but he continues to do just that anyway. “How you feeling, really? Any pain? Tired?”

“No pain. Not as tired. Still kind of ...loose, and relaxed, but not too altered.”

Clint takes a slow step forward and forgets what he was about to say because Phil’s not making any effort to hide the fact that he’s checking Clint out. His eyes make a slow trail over Clint’s arms, down his body and back up, pausing conspicuously at the front of his pants.

“Satisfied with your inspection, sir?”

Phil may blush on occasion but he doesn’t look abashed in the slightest for looking. “I wouldn’t say I’ve been satisfied, just yet,” Phil says, and Clint snorts at the flirt. “Will you take off your shirt?”

Clint can’t accommodate the request quick enough. He tends to strip down as soon as possible anyway, but that Phil doesn’t want to wait another few minutes for the inevitable and wants to see Clint’s skin right now, is a total turn-on.

“Mm, thank you,” Phil says, looking him over again, because he’s nothing if not polite. 

“You just sit right there, now, darlin,’” Clint says, letting his farce of a cowboy-in-a-porno accent put a flirty twist in his voice. “I’m just gonna undress you, sir. And then I’m a gonna put you to bed.” 

He sinks to his knees in front of Phil and reaches to pull off one shoe. “Ah, I mean...” Clint mutters into Phil’s thigh, dropping the silly voice because he suddenly feels more vulnerable than sexy and also because he just wants to nuzzle his way up Phil’s inseam. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not up for, ‘course. Just kinda want to touch you. If that’s okay?”

He feels Phil’s fingers scratch through the hairs at the base of his skull. 

“Yes,” he says simply, agreeing or granting permission, Clint can’t always tell. 

He peels off Phil’s socks, pressing his brow and nose to the bulge in Phil’s pants, encouraged by the hand on the back of his head. He strokes Phil’s bare ankles and then slides his hands up Phil’s legs and raises up onto his knees, meeting Phil’s eyes before kissing him.

He undresses Phil with care, making a mission out of getting the job done without moving his shoulder. Phil is naked and half hard when he gets situated on the bed, a pillow carefully supporting his arm. 

“You now,” Phil says, nodding for Clint to finish undressing. 

He’s received a lot of attention as Hawkeye in the last year, even trying to stay under the radar he’s still got his face on posters and an action figure sold in stores. He made some website’s ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ list and holy shit, reading the comments about what people wanted to do to him sure was a mistake.

But that feels nothing like showing off for Phil now, knowing Phil likes his body and wants to fuck him. Phil licks his bottom lip and an almost pained frown forms on his face. Clint turns around and bends over to pick up his discarded clothes and walks across the room, tossing everything on the chair, just to give Phil a look at his ass.

Phil’s chuckling when he turns around. “C’mere, you. I’m not mobile so you have to.” Phil reaches for him with grabby hands. “Come up here.”

Clint climbs right over his lap, into Phil’s reach, making himself available for whatever Phil wants. 

“Clint, god, you’re so...” 

With his one hand on Clint’s ass he pulls Clint close to him, pressing kisses to Clint’s chest and stomach and he slumps as low as he can so Clint helps by raising himself up and it’s just enough for Phil to capture Clint’s cock with his lips and then open his mouth around him.

“Jesus. Aw, fuckin’ nghh...” Clint gibbers, struggling for breath and voice, curling forward as Phil sucks him. He strokes his hands over Phil’s neck and up to the back of his head, fighting the urge to press for more.

It’s not enough to make Clint come, but it feels great, feels a little dirty even. 

“Still good?” Clint asks, because he’s hovering above Phil, pulling away every so often to give him a moment to catch his breath before feeding him his cock again when Phil pulls on his ass. “Kinda feel like I’m taking advantage.” 

Phil takes another few seconds to suck him slow and easy before pulling off and looking up, rumpled and satisfied. “Do you really think even now I couldn’t take you down if I didn’t want this?”

Clint chuckles and settles himself back down on Phil’s legs, pressing his forehead to Phil’s. 

“Aw, buddy.” He gives Phil a peck of a kiss. “Not even a _chance_.” 

Phil snorts _“tch!”_ and smacks the side of his ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. 

But it’s true, Phil is damn good in the field, even when compromised, but in no way could he take on Clint at the moment. Phil’s fighting style isn’t dirty like he and Tasha are, all gnashing teeth and clawing eyes. But he’s innovative, it’s practically art, or dance or some shit he can’t classify, but Clint finds it sexy as hell. “We should still hit the mats when you’re better.”

“Just name the time.”

A bottle of lube is tucked into the fold of the wall bed, behind the pillows and Clint really wants to make a crack about his prim Phil keeping it so handy but he’s rapidly losing his sense of sarcasm because Phil apparently has _plans_.

“Stay like this?” Phil asks him, a firm hand on his ass where Clint is still straddling Phil’s lap. 

Phil always has the best plans.

“Oh yeah.”

“Put some on my hand,” Phil says, and then he reaches around, making slow, gentle, wet circles before pressing slowly inside him. Clint lays his forehead in the curve of Phil’s neck and just lets himself relax into it. He drags his fingertips round and round Phil’s hip-bones and ribs, pressing his lips to Phil’s neck while Phil takes several minutes to press another finger inside.

This is one of the things Clint has learned that makes long-term relationship-sex so great. There’s no hurry to simply get off and then have to make excuses after. Sex with Phil is never hurried (except for all those times it is) but Phil never seems bored of him, of his company, or of his body, and Clint is content to be overstimulated by the gentle press of Phil’s fingers for as long as he wants to have him.

He’s roused from his blissed-out daydreaming when Phil nudges the side of his cheek with his nose.

“Hey? Touch me, get me wet?” Phil asks, his voice low and quiet in Clint’s ear. 

Phil’s cock is still full, but has flagged against his thigh while he fingered Clint, but he firms immediately at Clint’s touch. He squeezes and strokes on lube as slowly as Phil is fingering him. 

“Ready?”

“Hm. Sure. Anything. Want me to do the heavy lifting?”

“Please.”

Clint shifts as little as possible, in part to avoid jostling Phil’s shoulder and in part because he’s so content to be curled up, naked and hard in Phil’s lap. He eases himself onto Phil’s cock, neither of them quiet about how good it feels.

“Nice and easy, hm?” Clint says, against Phil’s ear, sucking on his earlobe.

“Actually,” Phil says, turning his ear against Clint’s lips. “Ride me. Hard.” 

The request is barely audible even this close, but Clint purrs an amused laugh. Phil is never exactly shy about sex but he’s rarely crude and Clint thinks he’d be pretty into it if he ever were.

“You got it, darlin’,” he teases, and grinds down at first, rocking, taking him in deep, before he raises up and presses down just enough that forces a surprised exhale from Phil. 

“Okay?” Clint asks, but does it again, with more force, and Phil groans. “Yeah?”

“Yes. ‘S good,” Phil says. “I’m fine, Clint. Shoulder’s fine. Really. It’s just that can’t take you like I want to. Need you to do it.”

“Fine by me,” Clint tells him, holding his face to kiss him again before bracing his hands on the wall behind Phil.

He fucks hard and shallow, with some measure of control so neither of them move very much. And he doesn’t let up. He could pause and drag it out, wants to drag it out, everything feels so good, but if hard and fast is what Phil needs to get off, he’s got no problem doing it.

“Damn it. _Yes_ ,” Phil says, gripping the crease of Clint’s thigh and ass. 

Phil varies between rocking his head back, eyes closed with pleasure, to looking up at Clint. He touches the muscles on his chest and strokes his nipple, and watches Clint’s cock as it sways, hard and red between them. 

“Gorgeous. You’re, so, gorgeous,” Phil gasps, and Clint sees it, sees that he’s right on the edge and he wants that, wants Phil to come inside him.

“Don’t fight it. Give it to me. Let go,” he coaxes, and Phil does, trembling and letting out the sweetest little whimper that makes Clint grin and have to kiss his cheek over and over again.

“Huh,” Phil squeaks again.

“Yeah. That was hot.”

“Mm.” 

Phil’s still full and hot inside him and he knows he’s got a few moments before Phil begins to soften. 

“You good like this?” Clint asks, his voice scratchy in a whisper.

“Hm-mm. I can...” 

“Nah, I got this one,” Clint says, already jerking himself hard, clenching and rocking down on Phil’s cock. The spike in sensation pushes him right to his peak and he comes in rush, spattering them both. 

“I love you, you know?” Phil says. “So much, Clint.”

Clint nods and they stay close together, heart rates slowly returning to normal, until Phil makes a displeased sounding mewl. 

“Was that a ‘my shoulder hurts’ noise, or a ‘I’m all sticky’ noise?” 

“I never mind being sticky with you,” Phil says. 

“Alright, gimme a sec,” Clint says, giving him another kiss before crawling backwards off the bed. He cleans them up, gives Phil a dose of his meds with a drink of water and then rearranges the pillows so Phil’s arm is supported and they can cuddle together.

“So, that’s the Bus christened.”

“Hm. My office, anyway. It’s a big Bus.”

“Ha! Why, Agent Coulson, I like the way you think.” 

Phil smirks and then goes quiet, expression firming into something more serious.

“What’s up?” Clint asks, and then he realizes that he’s been absently stroking his thumb over the ridge of the scar on Phil’s chest. “Hey, no. This? This is grade-A excellence right here.” He presses his hand flat over the scar. “This is what put you all back together. This is why we have more time. I fucking love this gnarly scar.”

Phil exhales, like he disagrees with Clint’s categorization, but he puts his hand over top of Clint’s on his chest.

“I know. It’s just… if I _do_ say something, you know, because of the meds, I know you have to report it.”

“Well, you’re mostly just kinda sweet and flirty, that’s all. Nothing Level 8 so far.”

Phil nods. “But will you tell me? Later, I mean. What I say?”

“You think you wouldn’t remember?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe? I think there’s things I don’t remember sometimes.”

Clint doesn’t like the sound of that. _Hates_ the sound of that. Having time and memory stolen from your life is worse than anything that can be done to the body, as far as he’s concerned. 

“I’m on your side, buddy. First in line, before SHIELD. I mean, just don’t tell them that.”

Phil smiles. “Skye said something like that recently.”

“Yeah. I like her. She’s suspicious.”

“She is.”

“I like all of them, actually. You did good. They’re pretty green, though, seriously, but I guess we were all green at some point. I don’t really remember. Was a long time ago.”

“And they’re eager. They’ll be back early tomorrow.”

“So we should try not to get caught in the shower together?”

“God, they’d love that.”

Clint chuckles. “Love you,” he says, and kisses him. “So, gonna tell me about it?”

Phil stares up at the ceiling for a moment and then takes a deep breath. 

“I’ve been having these dreams...”

~

_Thanks for reading! Please kudos, comment and come see me on Tumblr.[teslamaple](http://teslamaple.tumblr.com/)_


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